It's Not Tuesday
by Kaimi Hoshi
Summary: Sam wakes up one morning and to his horror, Asia is playing on the radio, Dean cannot wake up, and it’s not Tuesday...“Dean! Please!” Sam is screaming now. Screaming helplessly in pure agony. "Wake up, please! It's not Tuesday! It's not Tuesday!"


**Summary: Sam wakes up one morning and to his horror, Asia is playing on the radio, Dean will not wake up, and it's not Tuesday..."Dean! Please!" Sam is screaming now. Screaming helplessly in pure agony as the overwhelming sense of loss and devastation cloud his eyes with a thin and misty pool of tears. "No, it's not Tuesday."**

**Quick little project I wrote last night. Takes place a few weeks after Sam and Dean investigate the "Mystery Spot" in Season 3. Please leave a review! I would love to know what you think :)**

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**It's Not Tuesday **

Sam shoots up from under the covers as a quick jolt of lighting pulses a surge of adrenaline through his veins.

"_It was the heat of the moment..."_

No. For the love of God, no.

He flashes a glance at the bedside alarm clock radio. The tiny red digital numbers flash 11:01 AM.

No. No, no, no. This is isn't happening.

The trickster is gone.

He brought Dean back.

It's not Tuesday.

Dean is fine.

It's not Tuesday.

Dean is not going to die today.

It's not Tuesday...

"_Telling me what a heart meant..."_

But still the lyrics continue to radiate tauntingly from the nightstand, volume at full blast. The tune alone is enough to send his heart into a wild panic. Breaths quick and shallow, pulse racing in a fierce frenzy, Sam springs out from the sheets, lunging to the mattress next to his.

"Dean! Dean! Please wake up! Oh, God get up!"

Dean is not dead.

I still have time.

It's not Tuesday.

I still have time!

It's not Tuesday.

The deal isn't due yet.

It's not Tuesday.

I have a couple more months. I still have a chance to save him.

It's not Tuesday!

Sam violently shakes his brother's unresponsive body. Hands griping tightly around Dean's shoulders, Sam viciously rattles his motionless frame with desperate pleas of sheer terror racking his trembling body.

"_Cause it's the heat of the moment..."_

"Dean! Please!" Sam is screaming now. Screaming helplessly in pure agony as the overwhelming sense of loss and devastation cloud his eyes with a misty pool.

No, it's not Tuesday.

No. This is wrong. I still have time.

It's not Tuesday!

I swear to God I won't let him die.

It's not Tuesday!

You won't go to hell. I won't let you. Please, Dean. Please just wake up.

You can't die. It's not Tuesday.

"It's not Tuesday..." Sam breathes in a whimper. Throat swells shut, stomach cringes, as a dark, gurgling pit of despair rips open inside of him. Sam's eyes roll across the room towards the nightstand table, the little black radio in the center of the surface.

"_It was the heat of the mome-"_

Sam finds himself ripping the cord from the wall and hurling the little black box across the room. It smashes into a thousand pieces and leaves a faint skid mark on the blotchy, yellow motel drywall.

Sam leaps from the mattress and launches himself towards the trashed heap of shattered pieces. "It's not Tuesday! He's not dead! It's not Tuesday! Bring him back!" He stomps with all force on the remaining ruins of the radio. He kicks, and bashes, and crushes, until the frame of the wreck is noting but an utter disaster of scattered plastic debris. "IT'S _NOT_ FUCKING _**TUESDAY**_!"

With a final blow with his foot, hurling the pieces across the carpet, Sam stops. Shoulder's heaving, wheezy breaths panting, he throws his hands over his eyes and let's out a moan as his trembling knees give way and he collapses effortlessly at the foot of the bed.

No...no, no. I've lost him. I let him die...Oh God...

It's not Tuesday.

Why did he take Dean? Why did I let this happen?

It's not Tuesday.

What happened to him? How did this happen?

It's not Tuesday.

I should have salted the doors and windows. I should have salted this whole God damn motel. The deal wasn't up yet...

It's _NOT _Tuesday!

"Dude, what the hell are you doin'?"

Sam's heart skips a beat. Blood freezes. Trembling ceases. A shudder slithers down his spine.

"You gotta a sudden vendetta against the radio? Was that Asia I heard playin'?"

Sam lowers his hands. Expression muddled with a blend of hope and disbelief.

"_Hellllooo_? Earth to Sammy?"

Lungs thin with deflation, throat silently rasping, Sam's rickety knees, soft with shaking raise him from the ground and turn him from the wall to face weary cockeyed stare.

"Gezz, Sammy." Dean's expression melts from a gloating smirk to an anxious gawk, scanning Sam's state of distraught. "Sam, what's the matter? What happened?"

"Dean..." Sam's mouths his brother's name as if it's a prayer. A silent, thankful prayer to God.

Dean's alive. He's fine. He's staring right at me.

It's _not _Tuesday!

"Yeah?" Dean whispers with a peculiar tone in his voice as he rises from the bed and begins to approach his brother with an alarming pace. "Dude, what's wrong? Talk to me, bro. What's the matt-?"

"Dean!" Sam races forward and engulfs his brother with open arms. Thank you. God, thank you.

Dean slightly stumbles back, taken aback by his brother's sudden embrace, but doesn't pull away. Instead, he awkwardly places his arms around Sam, and pats him lightly on the back, as if attempting to comfort a ten year old. "Take it easy there, dude. Where's the fire?"

"You're alive." Sam doesn't suppress a sob. He firmly holds his brother with a tight clasp in his arms. "I haven't lost you. There's still time..."

"Time for wha-?"

"Oh, God! Dean!" Sam backs away slightly but places a firm grip on his brother's arms. "What day is it?"

"Uh..." Dean glances away to consult his watch. "Saturday-"

"Oh, thank God!" He wraps his arms around his brother again. "Not Tuesday...not Tuesday..." Sam whispers below his breath. "Its not Tuesday...he's safe."

"Sammy," Dean's voice carries a load of concern. "What's gotten into you, man? You're actin' like somebody just died."

Sam tries hard to ignore the irony in Dean's words and concentrates on holding on to this moment as long as he can. This moment of safety. This moment of relief.

"Dean," Sam mutters faintly between snivels. "That song...I-I...I hate that song...and it was playing... you...you...just wouldn't wake up...I thought...I thought..."

"You...thought...it was Tuesday?" Dean finishes bluntly. "What do you got against Tuesdays?"

Sam manages a hint of a smile that curves up at the corner of his lips. "Worst day of the freakin' week." He adds with a sniffle, "Why didn't you answer me? Dean, I shook you and shook you, why didn't you wake up?"

"Dude, it's the weekend! I was totally wasted last night!"

This time a brief chuckle escapes Sam's lips as the two begin to pull back. Of course. Alcohol would be to blame for his chaotic little morning drama. Sam stares thoughtfully at his big brother's cheeky grin.

I still have time...he's not gone yet.

"In fact I'm barely even conscious now. Look, whatever's going on with you, can it wait until I heave chunks in the toilet first?" Dean's impish smile gets bigger as he watches the light flicker back into Sam's eyes and a brief trace of a sideways smirk appears on his face.

"I'll be stuck waiting here all morning for you to hurl up your greasy Big Macs and Purple Nurples."

Dean gives Sam a wink as he slips off his jacket and heads for the bathroom door. "Bitch."

Sam's grin brightens as he clears his face with his hand and sniffles. "J-jerk..."

As the door clicks shut, Sam stands motionless in the room where Dean has left his numb legs frozen to the spot. He looks back over his shoulder at the shattered wreckage of the radio and nods to himself reassuringly.

He's not gone yet.

It's not Tuesday.

I still have time.

It's not Tuesday.

I'll save you, Dean.

"It's not Tuesday..." Sam murmurs with a heavy, wavering sigh. "...yet."

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**Love it? Hate it? Don't be afraid, I don't bite :) Please leave a review!**


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